A Mother's Love
by Kal-El Fornia
Summary: The words of her House were 'Family. Duty. Honor.', and now was the first time that Catelyn had ever felt that she was truly living up to them. Jon would be her son, and she would be his mother. By the word of King Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, Jon Snow would become Jon Stark.
1. Beowulf

Now, I am not a fan of Catelyn Stark for many reasons, but the one thing that I do admit is that she is a woman who loves her children. That's why I've always felt that one of the most intriguing and complex relationships in the series of _**Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire**_, is the one between Catelyn Stark and her sort-of stepson of Jon Snow. I decided to explore a bit of it, with a little thought that popped into my head.

Quote of the day:

_**My father's wife is old and harsh with years,  
And drudge of all my father's house am I—  
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.  
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!**_

_**—Rudyard Kipling, The Love Song of Har Dyal**_

* * *

"Jon Snow."

The name lingered in the cold air of Winterfell as she said it, and Catelyn Stark wasn't sure what she felt, whether it was anger or hatred, envy or betrayal, or perhaps an odd combination of all the above, the woman unable to hide her frown as she stared down at the sleeping babe silently drowsing in his cradle, the child unaware of what he was, and of just what kind of life awaited him. She knew that it was one thing for a Lord to have a bastard or two, that even King Robert Baratheon himself was rumored to have them all across Westeros, but it was another altogether for a Lord to demand on raising his baseborn son among his own trueborn children, as Eddard currently was with their dear little Robb and the bastard Jon Snow.

A recent sour memory came to her in that moment, of little Robb and her husband's bastard giggling together and crawling to one another in front of the fireplace in the way that only children who love each other do, and even though the thought of it made her stomach twist in ways that made Catelyn ashamed of herself, every time she thought of the boy and her son, every time she thought of this Jon Snow, the bitterness in her heart only grew. Even now she knew that Robb would grow to love his father's bastard, that he would maybe even see him as a brother, and Lady Stark felt like the worst woman in the world, wishing in that moment with all her soul that her baby boy could grow to hate this child named Snow. Perhaps the worst thing about it all though, the thing that made Catelyn twist and turn even in her sleep, was the way that even now, that Eddard often looked down and smiled at Jon in the same way that he smiled down to Robb.

Catelyn's thoughts were interrupted when she heard some walking through the hallway behind the door of Jon's room, and the woman froze in place, not sure what people were to say if they found her alone with Ned's bastard. They wouldn't say anything directly to her face of course, for she was the Lady of Winterfell, but they would most definitely whisper about it behind her back. It was no secret that she had no love for Jon Snow, and what would people think if they found her standing over the bastard boy, with no one else there to see?

As the steps in the corridor behind her faded though, and as the only sounds that then kept her company were a babe's soft snores and the cold wind that eternally raged on in the North, Catelyn's gaze once more rested on Snow. Her hands gripped onto the barricade of the boy's crib, and as she watched him, Snow looking just like Robb did as he slept, her thoughts drifted off once more, not only to Jon, but to what the bastard represented to her own family of House Tully. By every social grace in Westeros, the bastard boy's existence was an affront from House Stark to the honor of House Tully, and Ned's insistence on raising the boy as his own, at the side of his trueborn son, was more than just a slight to Catelyn's own honor; it was one of the greatest forms of disrespect that a husband could show to his wife.

She frowned as another memory then came to her, of her little brother Edmure, and of the future Lord's very last visit to Winterfell not so long ago. Edmure had shown up with his host, to feast and drink and to forever proclaim the friendship between Winterfell and Riverrun, and the night was mostly a haze to Catelyn if she had to be honest, except for the moment where she caught her younger brother sneaking off from the feast, carrying with him two small wrapped boxes, one for his nephew Robb, and one for a boy named Jon Snow. She still remembered what Edmure had said, that it wasn't little Jon's fault that Ned had betrayed her trust, and that at the end of the day that he wasn't some great insult that stained House Tully's honor, but instead that Jon was just a child; one that would never know a mother's love. She still remembered her little brother's words that pierced her heart, and she still remembered the red mark and the look of surprise on his face after she had slapped him.

Soon enough though, another sound interrupted her thoughts once again, but this time, it wasn't any sound from the corridor behind her. Jon was awake now and staring at her, and for a moment, the two of them couldn't help but to continue gazing at one another, Jon for a reason that Catelyn wasn't sure, and Catelyn for a brief second feeling just a twinge of something motherly whirl inside her as she watched the boy in the crib below her. The two shared solemn faces with one another, baby Jon gurgling something incoherent, before the bastard boy did something that surprised her, Catelyn never once having shown the babe anything even close to affection. He smiled at her.

She watched as the stirring child reached out into the air, it's babbling slowly turning into tears, and she knew just what exactly it was that this young Jon Snow wanted. Like any babe, the child yearned for its mother, a woman he would never know, and for a moment, a fleeting one that would forever define her relationship with this boy, Catelyn Stark and Jon Snow were the only two people in the world. And so, she did the only thing she felt she could.

She walked away.

* * *

Leave me feedback or make a request! I like feedback, and I try to do every one-shot request that anybody ever sends me.


	2. The Aeneid

I'm not sure why, but I decided to continue this story. I'm not sure how long it's going to be, but I figured it would be an interesting exercise to explore the would-be relationship between Jon Snow and Catelyn Stark. This will be done only in short 1k+ words snippets, but I feel that as of now such a thing is appropriate.

Quote of the day:

**_"She had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived on—lived to have six children more—to see them growing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself."_**

**— Jane Austen, _Northanger Abbey_**

* * *

"Jon Stark."

The name sounded so foreign to Catelyn Stark as she said it, but she read it over and over again with her husband Ned at her side, the two of them feeling different things as they stared down at the proclamation sent by King Robert Baratheon himself. She had hated the boy, she had hated what he was, and she had hated how many times his stranger's eyes had reminded her of her husband's betrayal of her, but she had made a promise to the gods both Old and New, and a promise to the Heavens is something that few seldom turn their backs on. The Stranger had stayed his dark and terrifying hand, and the gods had answered her prayers in saving the life of a little boy named Snow, and so Catelyn now had a price to pay; a price that could only be paid in love.

She stood up from her chair slowly then, never having expected the raven from King's Landing to have come so quickly. She wondered what her family in Riverrun would think when they found out that she planned to raise the still young Jon as her son, that she would be the mother she always should have been to him, and she wondered what the other noblewomen of the other noble Houses would think, and if any of them would be able to look into the eyes of a boy named Snow or Storm or Flowers, and still be able to call them son. She wondered what Ned thought, what he felt in his heart, what he had felt in the deepest pools of his soul, when she had gone to him the morning after that terrifying night where the Stranger had loomed over Jon. Most of all though she wondered about Jon, about that boy who still thought that his name was Snow. Would he believe her when she told him that she loved him? Would he always carry that doubt, or that shame, or that resentment with him to the contrary in the back of his mind? She swallowed hard at the thought, hard truths being called so for a reason.

Catelyn turned to leave, but stopped when she felt Ned gently grab onto her arm. He was looking away from Robert's letter for the first time since they had opened it, and the Lady of Winterfell was surprised for a moment, seeing just the barest hint of a smile on her husband's normally stoic face, with eyes staring back at her that were more misty than she had ever seen on Ned. She could see that he was holding things back, things that she knew that her husband would be able to let go when he was finally alone again. She wasn't sure what these things were, whether it was tears, or smiles, or prayers to the Weirwood trees of his ancient gods, perhaps even all of the above, but it was in the next moment that she finally understood that she had done the right thing, Ned's voice cracking for the first time since the night that she had married him.

"Thank you."

All she offered was a smile before she left to go find Jon, no words ever being enough for that moment in time.

She already knew where Jon would be at this time of the day, and Catelyn Stark held her head up high as she exited the castle of Winterfell, heading in the direction of Ser Rodrik and his training ground. The words of her House were 'Family. Duty. Honor.', and now was the first time that Catelyn had ever felt that she was truly living up to them. Jon would be her son, and she would be his mother. By the word of King Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, Jon Snow would become Jon Stark.

Catelyn knew she had been right about Jon's location the moment that the clashing of wooden swords came within her hearing. She walked slowly, her life and the life of her newest son only one conversation away from changing forever, and she felt a lump grow inside her throat, wanting to lodge itself there forever and wanting to forget that she had ever made a promise to the gods in the first place. There was a chill in the air that morning, a cold that seemed appropriate for how Lady Stark had felt the moment that she had read the letter from Robert, and she took a moment to look around at the different people who went about their daily lives at Winterfell, all of them being just as clueless as Jon about what was about to happen.

Robb and Jon stopped fighting as soon as they saw Catelyn approach them, and both Ser Rodrik and Theon Greyjoy looked towards her, the two of them unsure about why the Lady of Winterfell had decided to grace them with a visit. Robb's eyes met her own, obviously curious as to what exactly was the reason for her presence, but the boy said nothing, Catelyn sure that he was simply waiting for his mother to announce it herself. Ser Rodrik and the ward Theon Greyjoy were equally as quiet as was her oldest son, and their eyes rested on her as well, but Catelyn decided to ignore the three of them for the moment, instead deciding to focus on Jon Stark, even if the boy had lowered his head from the moment that she had come to them.

"Jon," she said in a tender voice that surprised all those who heard it, "I would like to have a talk with you."

She could see the fear in the boy's eyes when he looked up at her, and the surprise and worry on the faces of the others, with the exception of Theon giving one of his famous smirks, and it was then that Catelyn decided to do something that was even more surprising than the tenderness she had shown her husband's bastard.

She smiled at him.

* * *

So, this snippet is done and I'll see you next time!

**Incoming projects in the future:**

-Short one-shot about Cersei, were she to give Robert a true born Baratheon son.

-A one-shot about Brienne of Tarth as a young girl, and her relationship with her father.

-A multi-chapter story about a King Robb Stark who wins the War of the Five Kings, and who with a heavy heart a decade later has to march North to fight the King-Beyond-the-Wall, a man named Jon Snow.

-And a continuation of my Game of Thrones AU, which is a retelling of the series in a modern mafia setting.


	3. The Columbiad

Back again after a while, and let's hope that next time isn't as long. Can't wait til the next season of GoT coming up really soon.

Quote of the day:

_**Mr. Maclay**: This is insane. You people have no right to interfere with Tara's affairs. We are her blood kin! Who the hell are you? _

_**Buffy**: We're family._

-_Buffythe Vampire Slayer, _

* * *

"Do you believe in the Old Gods, Jon?"

Catelyn asked it almost as an afterthought as she turned to face the boy, and she remained quiet for a moment, curious as to what Snow would say. Ever his father's son Jon gave a simple nod, and Catelyn soon returned it, already knowing that there was no way the boy would have anything but respect for the Starks' ancient Gods of the Forest. Jon was a son of Winterfell, and his gods were the gods of the Lords of Winter, and the Kings in the North.

Perhaps that was why she brought him to the Wolfswood when she told him that she needed to talk to him, even if she still had yet to tell him that his name was no longer Jon Snow. Calling the boy Stark…calling him son, would take some getting used to for Catelyn, and the two of them stood silent as they watched each other, the shadows of things long left looming over them. It was said in hushed whispers that the ghost of Lyanna haunted the marriage of King Robert and Queen Cersei, the Stark girl being a wraith of Robert's heart that had never truly left the King. She was never one to believe old stories such as that, but as she watched the boy she had to remind herself was named Jon Stark, she wondered if a shade of Ned's past would finally be stirred up from the Beyond to become a ghost of Winterfell. As Jon Snow stared back at her, all she saw were the brown eyes of a stranger.

"I'm not sure if I do," Catelyn finally continued, a cold Northern chill flowing over her as she spoke, "but even now I feel a thousand eyes watching me…waiting."

She remembered feeling the same way during the first time that Ned had brought her to Winterfell after the war that had claimed most of his family. For a long time on that trip she had been silent with her husband, smiling only at the times that little Robb looked up at her with those bright shining eyes of his, and she remembered finding solace in the fact that her Robb was born by the river, somewhere far away from the North. She had wanted to hate Ned, she had wanted to send his bastard son to go off and live with the mother who bore him, and she remembered that she had cried more than once, for Ned's betrayal, and for a dream she had of Brandon.

_ S_he wasn't quite sure where in Dreamland that Brandon had taken her, but she laughed along with him as his ghost took her in his arms and swung her for a moment, Catelyn feeling like a girl again as he did so. They were in a meadow by a river, nowhere like Brandon's own North that was so dreary and cold, and instead she found herself smiling as she listened to the familiar sound of the nearby flowing water, laughing in the sun. It wasn't until she woke that she realized that Brandon was dead, and that even so, she had still become the Lady of Winterfell.

Jon_ s_oon brought Catelyn back to the moment that the two were sharing, and the boy had decided to ask his father's wife a question, although he looked to the ground, which was what he normally did whenever he had to speak with the mother of his siblings. "Waiting for what, Lady Stark?"

_For a promise to be kept._

"What is it that you want to do in life, Jon Snow?" Catelyn answered the boy's question with a question of her own, and she gave him a curious look as she did so, knowing that her last words were going to be the final time that she would ever call this boy Snow.

She saw the hesitation in his face, and she spoke again with softer words than before. "I promise I won't get mad no matter what you say."

There was still reluctance, that much was easy enough to see, but even so, Catelyn knew that the boy was going to speak his mind. She may have been cold to Jon, she may not have been the mother to him that she swore to Gods both Old and New that she was now going to try to be, but if there was one thing that Jon knew about her, it was that she always told the truth. The boy met eyes with her again, but this time they looked different than before. In a way she had not ever seen, Jon looked proud and fierce. She remembered the stroll in Dreamland in the meadow by the river, and for a moment little Jon Stark reminded her of Brandon.

"I want to join the Night's Watch."

In another time and place, those would have been words that Catelyn would have rejoiced at. She knew the oath well enough to know that saying them would mean that Jon would relinquish any of his non-existent claim to Winterfell, and that that would also mean that any of her children, or Robb's children, would be safe from any kind of rebellion. After what she had promised however to save Jon from the Stranger's hand, they now sounded hollow to her.

She responded quietly, but she kept her tone stern, preemptively quelling any of the protests she expected. "I won't let you do that."

_A mother protects her son._

Catelyn lifted a finger to silence the boy when a flash of contempt came across his face, and she continued on, knowing that her son needed to hear what she had to say. "At least not yet. That was something that you decided as Jon Snow. So tell me, what is it that you want to do in life, Jon Stark?"

Her son's anger soon faded away, instead being replaced with confusion. He looked at her unsure of what she said or meant, and for the second time that day Catelyn smiled at the boy who was now named Jon Stark. Neither of them had any clue as to what awaited Jon in his life after today, but perhaps they could figure it out together.

Somewhere far away, there was laughter in the sun.

* * *

Next chapter is going to deal either with Jon being awkward with the whole being a Stark thing, or Catelyn dealing with Theon who acts like kind of a dick to Jon.


	4. The Wanderings of Oisin

Finally just got over my latest bout of writer's block. Let's see how long this lasts. Anyways, this season of _Game of Thrones_ has definitely been disappointing. I mean, are you fucking serious, Sand Snakes?

Quote of the day:

_**"If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die historically on the Fury Road!" **_

_**\- Nux, Mad Max: The Fury Road**_

* * *

"Hey! Jon Snow!"

Jon didn't have to look to know who it was that was calling out to him, but the boy turned anyways to face Theon Greyjoy, the son of the Lord Reaper refusing to him call him Stark, no matter what the proclamation from Robert Baratheon stated. As it often did, Greyjoy's smug face carried an eternal smirk as if he were laughing at a joke with a punchline that no one understood except him, and as he came face to face with the boy now known as Jon Stark, his sneer only continued to grow. Although he had to crane his neck to meet eyes with the taller and older boy, Jon looked up at Theon with an admirable sort of defiance, and the young lad clenched his fists as he prepared for whatever it was that Theon had waited until they were alone to say to him. Unbeknownst to the both of them however, the Lady of Winterfell watched their exchange from high above them, she, like the two boys themselves, silently waiting for something to happen.

It had been a week since Lord Eddard Stark made the announcement of Jon's legitimization, and the different people of the North reacted in the different ways that Catelyn had expected them to. Robb and little Bran had embraced Jon with a tender sort of affection that only brothers can have for one another, and it was something that had touched her heart, the boys having always seen Jon as a true brother, regardless of the fact that his name had once been Snow. Arya had been giddy, the girl having a love so great for Jon that his name had actually been the first word that the girl had ever said. Once upon a time it had been something that had caused a great ache to the very soul of the Lady of Winterfell, but now, years later as she stared down at the fierce and proud face of the boy she now called son, there was nothing that made her feel more honored of the fact, and more ashamed of how she had once felt about it. The only one of the children who felt any sort of resistance to Jon's new name was Sansa who was more a lady from the songs than she was a simple child of the North, and even though Catelyn knew that her Sansa did have love for Jon, that it was a love that would take some time for the girl to be able to see in a new light.

As she stared down at Theon and Jon however, Catelyn knew that Sansa wasn't the only one who needed to adjust to her son's uplifted status. Theon was a proud boy, the heir of Pyke on the Iron Islands, the son of the Lord Reaper himself, and she was well aware of the fact that no matter what Robert Baratheon said, that Jon was still a bastard to Theon. Beyond Theon however, even the more kindhearted residents of Winterfell weren't quite sure what to think of the boy who had once been Jon Snow. To Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassel, Jon was still the regular old Jon; one of the sons of their Lord, the boy's last name never having been of that much importance to either of them. To other servants however, there was still reservation on whether or not to treat Jon in the same manner that they treated the other Stark children. Catelyn knew that it was not that they had treated the boy unkindly in the past, but there had always been a degree of separation between the Stark children and the boy named Snow.

She couldn't help but wonder just how much of that was her own fault in the way that she had looked at Jon in the past, and in the way that the darkest and most shameful thoughts of her life had been about the boy below her. What her feelings had been about Jon before the night she promised the gods both Old and New that he would be her child would be her burden to carry for the rest of her life, but as she watched Jon standing his ground against Theon for whatever it was that the older boy had in mind to say, as she watched as yet another person in Jon's life was about to call him bastard, Catelyn's hands gripped around the railing she was standing behind, feeling a mother's instinct to protect her son.

"Boys!" She called out to them from above, the two of them forgetting where they were and what they were doing, looking up at her, surprise on both of their faces.

They said nothing at first, and neither did she, but all that Catelyn Stark needed was to give both Theon and Jon a stern look, the boys in that moment knowing that any trouble from any kind of confrontation would not be worth it in the end. Theon quickly bowed his head and addressed her as Lady Stark before he scampered off to who knows where doing who knows what, and as soon as the older boy was gone, Catelyn's eyes once again landed on Jon. Following Theon's lead, he too bowed his head and addressed her as the Lady of Winterfell, but when he turned to leave, Catelyn called out to him, making the boy stop.

"Jon!"

He turned back to her and watched, remaining standing where he was as he waited for Lady Stark to climb down a nearby flight of stairs and over to him. Her stern look had become a small smile when she came face to face with Jon, and the boy was unsure of what to expect, Catelyn's presence in his life for so long having been an unnerving one.

As she finally reached Jon, Catelyn couldn't help but trail her eyes in the direction that Theon had wandered off in, and the Lady of Winterfell frowned, unsure of what to do with her husband's ward. She would have to talk to him, or Ned would have to, but she pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind, instead knowing that at the moment there was only one thing that was worth her time. She looked at Jon, and Jon looked back at her, and Catelyn almost smiled again, before that almost smile soon disappeared, being replaced with a look that neither Jon nor Catelyn could ever describe, but it being a look that reflected her heart, and what she felt in it. Without another thought, she brought a hand to the face of the boy in front of her, and for a moment of time, neither of them took a single breath.

"Despite what anyone else in the world might say, and despite what your name used to be, you are Jon Stark of Winterfell. This is your home. You are the son of Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, and," there was one more pause in that instant, watering glistening in Catelyn's eyes as she said the words out loud she never thought she would, and those same tears welling up in Jon's as well as he heard the words he never thought he would.

"And you are my son as well."

* * *

Some people have expressed interest in an upcoming story of mine involving King Robb Stark going to war against Jon Snow, King-Beyond-the-Wall. It won't be posted for a while, but I figured that in light of that I might as well post a snippet of something that I already have written for it below...

**_"I've killed Kings, Your Grace," Ser Jaime Lannister smirked his famous bloody grin, despite the fact that he was alone in a wilderness he did not know, surrounded by Wildlings, and face to face with the man they called their King, "I've killed wights and White Walkers, I've struck blades with the likes of the Kingswood Brotherhood and with your own brother, King Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. And yet here I am, standing proudly still. When I die however, these are not the stories I wish of them to tell of me, you fuck. There is only one story that matters, and it is the story of the day I killed Jon Snow."_**

**_For what it was worth, the valor of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch touched the heart of the King-Beyond-the-Wall. "And if I kill you?"_**

**_"Then it will be a worthy tale indeed."_**


	5. The City of Dreadful Night

**So, I'm back. It's been a while, but I remembered I had a half finished chapter ready to go up. I figured I might as well finish said half, and update after all this time. This chapter is...different. A good different, I think. Spoilerish I guess for those who haven't seen season 5, but spoilerish to the point that if you hadn't seen it you wouldn't know what I was talking about.**

Quote of the day:

**_"It is written: Only Link can defeat Ganon."_**

**— Gwonam, _Link: The Faces of Evil_**

* * *

"Jon!"

Her husband Ned woke along with her as Catelyn jolted away from the world of dreams and nightmares, the Stranger more than any of the other Seven gods becoming more and more familiar to her. The name of the boy that she had shouted as she had awoken to thrashing and fearful sweat was haunting her, even if what she had been dreaming of was something that she knew was impossible. The woman closed her eyes for a moment, white bloody wolf's fur more vivid to her than the river streams of her girlhood, the screeches of a thousand crows echoing in her mind, dark wings blackening the sky.

Without saying a word, the Lady of Winterfell instead breathed more heavily than normal and tried in vain to keep herself focused as she tried to calm herself down. Catelyn felt Ned rise in bed just as she had, almost as quickly despite his slumber, and she heard him whisper in the dark of their room, bringing a hand of comfort to her shoulder. "Cat? What's wrong?"

With her eyes closed she thought of black feathers falling from the sky, and the dying howl of a wolf. She thought of Robert Baratheon, and a Prince with silver hair. She thought of the Iron Throne, covered in Snow. She thought of Jaime Lannister, and his bloody golden blade. She thought of a knight wielding a sword made a fire; a guardian against the darkness, a champion of the Dawn.

"I'm fine," she lied, remembering the white wolf's eyes. "It's just the dream that I was having. It felt so real. It was like I was there, as if I was in that murder of crows."

Her husband's hands tightened for a moment, before loosening, Catelyn knowing that Ned thought she was being delirious, but happy to feel his touch and hear his words all the same. "Crows? What are you talking about?"

For a moment, she had wanted to tell Ned that what she had seen had only been a dream and nothing else. They would go back to sleep, and she would pretend that she had never seen what she had. The white wolf's eyes would be forgotten, and a thousand crows would vanish into oblivion. And that was exactly what she almost did, until she remembered her promise to the gods both Old and New. Until she remembered Jon.

She stood up from the bed she shared with her Lord husband, Catelyn almost embracing the cold that always lingered in the air of Winterfell, or in the frigid stones beneath her feet. She shivered, but not from the cold. "It was the dream I had, Ned. I saw…Jon. Or, I saw a wolf, but I knew that it was Jon."

Ned too stood up, but this time he silently watched his wife for a moment before responding. "Cat, whatever it was, it was only a dream."

"I was dreaming of a white wolf in the snow, and of a thousand crows that were flying above him, the wolf," once again she closed her eyes, and saw a Ghost staring back at her, "Jon, not knowing that they were following him."

"How do you know the wolf was Jon?"

The cold of the night engulfed her, to the point where she even felt the frost of the North seeping into her bones. She did not shiver this time, and instead she turned to watch the embers that were fading in what was left of the crackling wood in their fireplace. The fire was almost gone now, but she watched as it raged, raged, raged, against the dying of the light. "He turned to look at me, and he had the boy's eyes. He even moved like Jon, if that makes any sense."

Ned remained silent, and so she continued on. "I wanted to yell out to him, I wanted to warn him about the crows in the sky…that they wanted to hurt him, but when I turned to scream, I found that I couldn't, and I brought my hands to my throat. I realized then that it was slashed to the bone, and the more that I tried to warn the wolf, the more blood dripped down my neck."

It only took a moment for Lord Stark to be at her side again. Without hesitation, Ned brought his hands back to his wife's shoulders to comfort her once more. "If you need to finish telling me about your dream, I'm here to listen, Cat," Ned paused, unsure of what else he could do, but knowing that he had to say something. "But if you don't want to, or can't, I'm here to hold your hand."

She watched the embers of the fire that refused to go gently into the dying of the light. She thought of grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight. It was too late for her to remain silent. It was too late to send her Lord husband back to bed. It was too late to forget her dreams. But perhaps, it wasn't too late to keep Jon safe.

"The white wolf never saw it coming. First it was one crow that came and pecked at him, that came and clawed. Soon enough it was another, and then a third. A fourth, a fifth, a tenth, a hundredth, and almost in an instant the crows blackened the sky with their black feathers, and reddened the snow on the ground with the white wolf's blood. Those birds…I remember what they were screeching as they murdered the wolf. I remembered what they kept saying, the dark words that had come with their dark wings."

"What were they saying?" Ned asked, almost a whisper.

The embers in the fireplace finally died out, and the room was engulfed in darkness. Her next words were also a whisper like Ned's, but they seemed to scream louder than anything she had ever heard before. Would Jon like those embers follow the darkness into the dying of the light?

"For the Watch."

* * *

**See you next time. Thanks for reading.**

**If you have any ideas for whatever kind of Jon/Catelyn interaction you'd like to see, I'm all open for it.**

**Also, fuck Olly.**


	6. The Knight in the Panther's Skin

**It's been a while, but I couldn't help but write something after the Battle of the Bastards. I had a different chapter planned for this right here, but the hype has not yet died. If you haven't seen the Battle of the Bastards yet, I guess a spoiler warning? Kind of. Not really.  
**

Quote of the Day:

**_"_****__It's one thing to think that you're the center of the universe — it's another thing entirely to have this confirmed by an ancient prophecy._"_**

** -_Douglas Adams_**

Bonus Quote:

**_Ser Davos Seaworth: Will you stay here at Castle Black?_**

**_Melisandre: I will do as Jon Snow commands._**

**_Davos: You serve Jon Snow now?_**

**_Melisandre: He's the Prince who Was Promised._**

**_\- Game of Thrones_**

* * *

"Keep your shield up, Jon!" Ser Rodrik Cassel shouted from the sidelines of the sparring match where the two Stark boys tested their mettle against one another, "Keep your shield up, or Lord Robb will ring your head like a bell!"

Today was the day of where her Lord husband had tasked Ser Rodrik with showing the extent of training that had so far been undergone by Robb, Jon, and even Theon Greyjoy. So far, her husband had been pleased with the results. Ned had whispered to her after a demonstration of Theon's archery skills, that Theon would one day make a fine soldier, and perhaps even a finer Lord if Theon was able to show the same discipline in ruling that he did in martial combat. Catelyn thought that perhaps that wasn't out of the question, but she would be more comfortable with the idea when the day came that Theon didn't smirk as much as he usually did, smiling that mischievous grin that told the world that he was eternally on the cusp of crossing over a line he could never uncross.

Her boys were a different matter however. From what she and Ned gathered, Jon was better with a sword, but Robb was better with a lance. Even so, they seemed to be evenly matched on everything else. Apparently, the two of them were going to be great warriors someday, if Ser Rodrik was to be believed, which he was. Although Ned only gave one of his usual reserved smiles, she could tell that her husband was eternally pleased. The same proved true for her as well, but as Catelyn watched the two boys fighting in front of her, as she watched one of them in particular, she was pleased for an entirely different matter altogether.

She had another dream about Jon.

He wasn't a great white wolf like he was in the last dream that she had of him, and this time she did not tell Ned about her nightmare. Something felt stranger than it had last time, something felt more real and more horrific. Something had filled her with dread and pride and heartache. The Stranger had loomed over Dreamland.

She dreamt of an older Jon, standing on a battlefield, with a flaming sword in his hand. She couldn't see his face in this dream, but she knew it was him without a doubt in her heart. The man she knew was Jon was filled with a fury she had never seen before, and it was a fury directed at a man with no skin who stood across from him. The Flayed Man was smiling a ghoulish lipless smile, and his eyes were an eerie strange pale.

"_Winterfell is mine, bastard, come and see,_" the skinless creature laughed as Jon raised his flaming sword, the creature's laughter echoing in both her mind and her soul, like the sound of owls screeching in the night.

"_You will watch as I skin them living. You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister,_" the pale ghost cackled, raising a bow she had not yet seen, aiming it at Jon, "_come and see._"  
"_You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother,_" the Flayed Man whispered this time, the skin and dripping blood of this pale eyed monster turning into black smoke the moment that Jon struck the skinless beast down with his flaming sword, "_come and see._"

Above them, watching the two warriors from atop a mountain of snow, was a King dressed in black armor, whose skin was as white as the moon. He was a haunting thing to look at, though Catelyn did not want to remember what she saw. She remembered what it looked like however, though she had no clue to what it was. The White King was great and powerful. The White King saw strength in Jon, and feared him. The White King was magnificent, and a dreadful thing in the night. He was nightmarish, but at the same time carried a sense of terrifying beauty. His eyes were as bright as blue stars.

"I was thinking about Jon's future," Ned broke Catelyn away from the dreams that rested only in the dark places of her mind, "and perhaps he would make a good Castellan of Winterfell? Robb could use the help when he becomes Lord after I pass on. Maybe he could even become the Master-At-Arms, with some guidance from Ser Rodrik."

Ned paused for a moment, Lord stark considering just how to breach the next topic, before settling on being as forward as he usually tended to be. "Benjen says they always need good men at the Wall."

"I don't want him to be any of those things," Catelyn answered her husband as she looked towards him, her dreams calling out to her, the woman at the same time wondering if they were more than that. Perchance she thought, though she did not dare to say it out loud, that maybe her dreams were a warning from the Mother, or perhaps even the Stranger.

Ned paused, unsure of what exactly his wife was getting at. The Lord of Winterfell frowned, dreading the thought that perhaps his wife had changed her mind about embracing Jon as one of her own. "Then what is it that you want him to be?"

"I want him to be a knight," Catelyn answered as she turned back to watch her sons, "I want him to be the greatest swordsman who ever lived."

It was something that Catelyn realized as she watched her two sons spar against one another. Robb would be Lord of Winterfell, but it was Jon's future that continued to trouble her. Whether her dreams were something that were destined to be or a warning, she did not know, but one thing was clear. Jon must be more than a Castellan. He must be more than a Master-At-Arms. He must be more than a brother of the Night's Watch. He must be more than even a knight. She closed her eyes, and heard the Flayed Man whisper once again, "_Come and see_."

Jon must be a champion.

* * *

**R + L=J?  
**


	7. The Lord of the Isles

**So, I decided to do a quick update, considering the great feedback I got for the last chapter. Now, this chapter is going to be a bit of a departure, since it is not going to feature either Catelyn or Jon. Instead, it's going to feature Hoster and Edmure Tully. That's where I see potential...controversy, in my characterization of Hoster Tully.**

**I don't mean to bash the character. In my assessment of him however, I have always seen him to be akin to a lighter form of Lord Tarly or Tywin Lannister. In the books, I don't point to Hoster Tully giving moon tea to Lysa as evidence for my opinion, because I understand the kind of world they live in, and I know it was Lord Tully's harsh way of protecting his daughter. Instead, I point to Robert's Rebellion.**

**When House Goodbrook sided with the Targaryens instead of joining the rebels like their overlord did, to subdue them Hoster Tully went to one of the villages under the protection of House Goodbrook, and slaughtered all of the smallfolk to send a message to their Lord. That has always stuck in my mind.**

Quote of the Day:

**_"Do not care what others think. Do what you must."_**

** -_Javik, Mass Effect 3  
_**

* * *

"Jon Stark," Lord Hoster Tully scoffed as he threw his daughter's letter into the fire.

The raven had come from Winterfell, telling him about the legitimization of Ned Stark's bastard, and his own daughter's embrace of the boy she now called her son. Regardless of her promise to the gods that her letter spoke of, regardless of the strange dreams that his Catelyn had refused to give details of, regardless of the fact that the bastard had spent his whole life at Winterfell raised alongside his trueborn brothers and sisters, to him the boy would always be Jon Snow. The old Lord watched as his daughter's letter continued to burn, and he felt something dark wretch in his soul.

"Lord Stark must have said or done something," Lord Hoster said as he continued to gaze into the fire, refusing to believe that what Catelyn's letter said was the complete truth.

He remembered Robert's Rebellion. He remembered when Ned Stark returned from the south with the bastard Jon Snow. The only thing that anyone knew about the boy's mother was that Lord Stark had brought the bastard back from Dorne. Some whispered that the boy was the son of Ashara Dayne, who flung herself from the tallest tower of Starfall after she found out that her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, was slain by her lover. He wasn't sure about the truth of the rumor, but it didn't matter. Ashara Dayne or not, Jon Snow was the bastard son of some Dornish whore. He would not forget his daughter's weeping.

"Or Cat made a promise to the gods," Edmure said after a moment, the heir of Riverrun not believing that Ned Stark would force his sister to do anything she did not want to do.

"Have you ever known your daughter to make idle promises, my Lord?" Maester Vyman offered when Lord Tully had met his son's comment with silence.

They were standing in the Great Hall of Riverrun at the moment, where Lord Hoster had summoned his son and his Maester after reading the contents of his daughter's letter. He was a Lord Paramount, and something in the North had happened that was unacceptable. He watched the flames in his fireplace burn what was left of Catelyn's message, and Lord Hoster turned away in disgust. Walking to his high seat, Hoster Tully sat down, prepared to give his Lord's judgment on the matter. Without a word, a nearby serving girl handed him a chalice of wine. He took a long drink, and felt the darkness echo in his heart once more.

He glance over at Edmure and Maester Vyman who awaited what he had to say with well-founded dread, and Lord Tully spoke without any kind of reservation. "Jon Snow must die."

"My Lord, what you speak of-" Maester Vyman began to say, before being silenced by a dismissive wave of his Lord.

"You think I relish the thought of killing a boy? Robert Baratheon legitimized this bastard, just like the fourth King Aegon legitimized his own. Millions died because of his Great Bastards. How many will die when Jon Stark decides he wants to be Lord of Winterfell?"

"Cat says this boy is kind-hearted, and honorable, and-" Edmure tried to argue, before he too was interrupted by his father.

"And she wants me to make him a knight," Lord Tully spit to his side in disgust.

"She wants him to foster here. She wants him to learn how to be true and just."

"Ned Stark's bastard," Hoster Tully scoffed once more, "a knight of Riverrun."

Maester Vyman hesitated, unsure of whether or not to voice his concerns. It was soon enough however that the Maester knew he had to say something, despite everything else that was said, the Maester knew that Hoster Tully was a good man and a good Lord. "What you're speaking of, my Lord, is an act of war. If you kill Jon Snow, not even Lady Catelyn's marriage to Lord Stark will stop him from raising his banners. If that happens, then how long will it be until Robert Baratheon smashes against our walls?"

The Lord of Riverrun paused, considering his Maester's words. He took a long drink of his chalice, leaning back in his high seat as he did so. Despite what he said next, a dark smile flickered across his lips. "As if I would march on Winterfell."

"Father?" Edmure asked, unsure of what his Lord father was saying.

"I won't kill Jon Snow, but I will never host that bastard within my halls. I will never feast him, I will never let him walk through my gates. My daughter wants me to make him a knight of Riverrun. I would sooner burn down the Riverlands. If he threatens Robb or little Brandon or any of my granddaughters, I'll hang his half-flayed corpse from the tallest peak of my castle for all the North to see."

The silence in the Great Hall was deafening. Maester Vyman and Edmure shared worried glances, since neither of them had any clue as to what idea had entered the mind of Lord Tully. Whatever else the case may be, the only truth that seemed for sure was that Jon Stark was never going to be a knight of Riverrun. Edmure took a step towards his father, the words of his sister's letter weighing heavy on his mind.

"Maester Vyman?" Edmure turned to look at his family's Maester, having made a decision then and there.

"Lord Edmure?" the Maester asked, looking frazzled and worried all the while.

His father was watching him intently, and he almost backed down from what he intended to do. Instead, he closed his eyes, and thought about his sister's letter that was now nothing more than ash in their fireplace. He couldn't turn away now. "I need you to send a raven. I'm going to Winterfell."

Having known long enough that Edmure had a soft heart, Lord Tully laughed, mocking his son. "I want Jon Snow dead, but I didn't expect you to kill him yourself."

"He's a boy!" Edmure shouted, forgetting his place for a moment. Regardless, his words shocked his Lord father, and their Maester, and everyone who heard later on about the boldness and bravery and kindness of Lord Edmure.

"He's a bastard!" Lord Hoster roared back in return as he threw his chalice of wine across the room, shattering it against the stone floor of his hall. The Lord of Riverrun stood up, his shout silencing all in his castle that heard him. There was fire in the old man's eyes, daring his son to challenge him.

It was then where Edmure turned back to look at his father, and as he met eyes with the old Lord, he thought about his own past and the kind of lives lived by bastards like Jon Snow. It took only a moment for him to become resolved in his decision to go to Winterfell. Edmure himself was no bastard, but he had spent most of his youth not knowing a mother's love, the Lady of Riverrun having died shortly after his birth. For all his life that he could remember, his sister Catelyn had been a mother to him, just as she was now trying to be a mother to the young Jon Snow. He would not deny any child that. When he remembered Catelyn's letter however, when he remembered her promise, his fists tightened, and his gaze hardened like Valyrian steel. He remembered the words of his House. He would not deny his _nephew_ that. After another moment Edmure finally walked away, for the first time in his life being ashamed of his father.

"He's your grandson."

* * *

**So, I have an announcement. The first chapter of a fanfic titled _The War of the Wolves_ (though if someone suggests a better title I will definitely use it), should be up within the next two weeks. The new story will deal with King Robb Stark (who won the War of the Five Kings) marching north to fight his brother Jon Snow, who has become the King-Beyond-the-Wall.  
**


	8. Evangeline

**Here's the latest chapter! It won't deal with Edmure coming to Winterfell. Catelyn getting the raven from him is the next installment!**

Quote of the Day:

**_This is how I'll always remember you. Surrounded by winter. Forever young, forever beautiful. Rest well, my love. The monster who took you from me will soon learn that revenge is a dish Best Served Cold._ **

**— Mr. Freeze, _Batman: The Animated Series_ **

* * *

"Jon?" Catelyn asked the moment that she found Jon standing outside her husband's solar, looking unsure and hesitant, pacing back and forth as if there was something important on his mind that he needed but didn't want to ask.

The boy froze when he heard her voice, and the Lady of Winterfell wasn't exactly sure what her son was doing. Night had already fallen hours ago, and there was no reason for Jon to be out of the castle on a cold night like tonight. Though, if he wanted to ask Ned something in private she supposed that now was the time to do it, considering that it would be a long time still until her husband would head back to their room.

There was a long pregnant moment before Jon turned to look at her. "I was actually looking for you, Lady Stark."

"You were?" Catelyn narrowed her eyes for a moment, not sure whether or not to believe him.

"I was looking to, uhm," the boy coughed as he looked away once again, fueling her suspicion, "give you some advice."

"Advice?" Catelyn asked with a raised eyebrow, Jon never having been the one to seek her out for anything or for any reason, despite her efforts to connect with the boy.

"Uhm," Jon began to ask, still looking away from her and rubbing the back of his neck all the while, "I know that Arya gives you and the septa trouble with her needlework. I was thinking that maybe Arya would be more willing to practice her needlework if you let her practice archery as well? It's, uhm, worth a shot I think."

Smirking, Catelyn almost laughed. Now this was starting to make sense. "Hmmm, and did Arya put you up to this?"

When he didn't answer, she knew that she was right.

"Walk with me, Jon," Catelyn said, motioning for the boy to follow her, which he did.

It was a quiet stroll to one of her favorite parts of Winterfell. Leaning against a railing near her husband's solar, Catelyn could see outside the castle walls, and smiled at the view that the night provided her. She could see the Wolfswood that many whispered was haunted, and that to Catelyn herself still seemed a wild and strange place, a home to the otherworldly gods of her husband. Off in the distance she could see Winter Town, where the small folk of the North made their living in this world that was a peculiar and extraordinary blend of cruel and beautiful. The night was dark and the dawn was somewhere far and far away. The stars were shining brighter than she had ever seen before.

"Your sister is a Lady," Lady Stark breathed out, watching the unknown darkness before her, her warm breath creating little clouds of vapor in the cold Northern night, "even if Arya has always preferred the stories of knights over the songs of the maidens with flowers in their hair."

"Sorry I didn't mean to-" Jon began to apologize, before Catelyn held up a reassuring hand to stop him.

She motioned for him to watch the night sky with her, and after the boy hesitated for a moment, Jon did as she asked. His gaze was intense and unreadable, and had she not known otherwise she would have wondered if it was the first time that the boy had ever looked up at the stars. She knew the truth though. She knew that in his lonelier moments that he sometimes wondered if he would forever be Jon Snow. As the two of them stood together watching the shining lights in the black void above them, an uncomfortable truth echoed in her heart. Jon Snow had stared up at the night sky countless times in his life, dreaming of the mother he had never known.

"When I was young I wasn't betrothed to your father. I'm sure you know the story, Jon. I was betrothed to your Uncle Brandon, who was wild and strong and fierce. I remember the first time I met him. He was a bold man who had a warrior's heart, and I knew from the moment that I first stared into his burning eyes that I wanted to be his wife."

"And then the Mad King killed him," Jon replied, not meaning to be as blunt as he was.

She remembered the stories about the deaths of Brandon and Rickard Stark. Brandon had been foolish to walk into the Red Keep with the demand for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen to come out and die, but what bond was stronger between two siblings than a brother's love? Catelyn knew Brandon though, and when he found out that Rhaegar had abducted his sister Lyanna, when he found out that the Dragon Prince had raped his sister, there was no other option for the man they called the Wild Wolf.

Rickard Stark had fought for his son like she knew he would have and Catelyn could still remember as clear as the rivers of her girlhood home the day her father had received a raven saying how Lord Stark had been slain in a trial by combat in King's Landing, with the champion of the crown being fire. Brandon had strangled himself trying to save his father. She remembered hearing the story about how the throne room was filled with five hundred Lords and knights, and how even with those five hundred Lords and knights the throne room of the red keep had been as silent as a crypt, except for the screaming of the Starks and the laughter of Aerys Targaryen. She locked herself away in her room to weep and mourn her beloved, until her father reminded her that she had a duty to her House, being married to the young Ned Stark, who was a stranger to her then.

Despite the dishonor of it, she remembered lighting candles for all Seven Gods the night she learned that Jaime Lannister had murdered the Mad King.

Sudden tears stung her eyes, but Lady Stark did not wipe them. "Yes, and then the Mad King killed him."

She turned to him then, not caring whether her son saw her tears. "I loved Brandon Stark with all the passion of a first love. You may not believe it, Jon, but one day even Arya will love someone that same way."

"She's all skinned knees and bruised elbows," Jon said with a half laugh and a half frown, Arya never having been as interested in love or other Ladylike things as their sister Sansa was. Although he couldn't see it, he hoped that Lady Stark was right, and that one day his little sister would find a man to love with all her heart that was brave and gentle and strong.

She nodded, smiling at the thought of her wild and spirited daughter. "Your father says she has wolf's blood in her, like your Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna,"

There was a somber silence between them as they stared out into the Winterfell night. The wind carried the howls of faraway wolves to them, and the night was darkly enchanting. "Father doesn't talk about them."

"Yes," Catelyn said after a moment of time, hoping with every ounce of love in her heart that the same kind of tragedy wouldn't befall her children that did to Ned's family all those years that seemed like a lifetime ago, "but that doesn't mean that he doesn't still think about them every day of his life. What the Targaryens did to them and your grandfather still haunts your father's mind. All these years later, their names are still ghosts of Winterfell."

"Wolf's blood," Jon whispered quietly, for a moment thinking about his aunt and uncle, before his thoughts drifted once again to his sister.

"It's what drove your aunt and uncle into early graves. We can't let that happen to your sister too."

Jon finally looked at her when she rested a hand on his shoulder. For a moment of time, they were alone in the universe. Later on in the night she would wonder if this was the moment that she finally connected with the boy, after all those years jealously and resentment. She kept her hand on his shoulder, and the deep brown pools that were his eyes continued to stare into her own. She gripped his shoulder tightly as she thought of Brandon's smile and herself beaming in the sun. She thought of Rhaegar playing his harp at Harrenhall, and of Lyanna wearing a crown of blue winter roses. She thought of Jaime Lannister, and Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, who died before the Iron Throne. She thought of Arya, who some around Winterfell murmured was a specter of Lyanna's youth.

Somewhere far away, wolves were howling, and her whisper trembled in the cold night air.

"Promise me, Jon."

* * *

**So, R+L=J is confirmed! It is true for this story as well. I want to utilize it, but I'm unsure how I could do that beyond giving hints as I did in this chapter.**

**Read and review! **

**P.S. This story is going to be updated once a week, every Saturday.**


	9. La Pucelle d'Orléans

**Here is the weekly update! No Catelyn this time, but instead some overdue sibling stuff.**

Quote of the Day:

**_"All happy families are like one another; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."_**

**— Leo Tolstoy, _Anna Karenina_**

* * *

_"Promise me, Jon."_

The words of Lady Stark echoed in his mind as he made the long walk back to the room he shared with his brother Robb, and although Jon seemed as demure as ever to the few people who were still up about Winterfell this late at night, he remained deep in thought. In all his life Jon had never seen Lady Stark cry before, and he didn't know whether to feel troubled or anxious or even moved that she would show that side of herself to him. It was a strange time in his life, and for now he settled for an odd mix of all three.

When he got to his room, Jon couldn't help but be surprised when the first thing he saw was his little sister Sansa sitting on his bed. He blinked at her, and she blinked right back. Jon then turned to look at Robb, who was already wearing clothes to sleep in.

"She's hiding from Arya," Robb answered the question that Jon didn't need to ask.

Nodding, he accepted the answer. Arya liked to torment Sansa when they were mad at each other, and they were always mad at each other. He let out a small chuckle then, both at the fact that Sansa was hiding from their sister, and also at the fact that Arya's latest trick involved sheep dung, Sansa's mattress, and the sewing needle that Septa Mordane struggled with constantly in trying to teach the younger Stark girl how to use properly.

"Where were you?" Sansa asked, somewhat accusatory. Despite his arrival, she seemed content to not move from her spot on his bed.

"I was talking to," Jon paused for a moment as he thought, still not sure how to address the mother of his siblings. He had always known her as the Lady of Winterfell, and as taciturn and harsh as the Northern cold. There was something different about her now though, and Jon still wasn't sure what to think. "I was talking to Lady Stark."

"About?" Sansa asked again, still not moving.

"She was talking about love," Jon hesitated, unsure whether or not Lady Stark was okay with him sharing what they had talked about, before he figured that it would be alright, "and Arya."

"Was my mother talking about marriages?" Sansa more wondered out loud to herself than anything else.

Jon shifted where he was standing, anxious to go to bed. "She talked about her marriage to father, and she talked about her betrothal to Uncle Brandon."

Sansa frowned for a moment, having hoped that maybe her mother was in talks for possible marriage arrangements. Soon enough however the girl perked up, remembering that Jon had mentioned something about their sister. "What about Arya?"

Accepting the fact that Sansa wasn't going to move from his bed anytime soon, Jon resigned himself to plopping down into a spot near the foot of where he slept. "She said that one day Arya is going to care for someone with all the passion of a first love."

Hearing that, Robb sat up in his bed. The young future Lord said nothing, and his face contained a flash of confusion shared by all three siblings at the moment. Arya would sooner become a knight then she would a Lady dressed up in pomp and circumstance for a Lord husband arranged by their father. It was a fear that all three of them had but didn't share however that maybe Arya would truly find someone to love with all the passion of her heart, and that that someone would turn out to be a soldier or a blacksmith, or maybe even a bastard like Jon.

Pushing away the nasty thoughts of Arya eloping with one of the smallfolk, there was a sudden seriousness to the eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. "That's how Prince Joffrey is going to love me," Sansa declared, raising her head up high like the proud noble lady she was born to be.

"Prince Joffrey?" Both brothers asked at the same time, Jon and Robb sharing a mutual glance, neither quite sure how they felt about this new development.

"One of these days I'm going to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Sansa spoke of her future not as a possibility, but instead as a certainty, "and even Robb is going to have to listen to what I say."

"And I'm going to marry someone beautiful," Robb said, leaning forward for effect, ignoring his little sister's fancies, "She's going to be so beautiful that men are going to try and kill me because of her."

"I don't know if I like that," Jon said back to his brother, feeling a prickling of dread from Robb's statement, and an intangible sense of doom.

"What about you?" Sansa turned to Jon, pausing for a moment as she appraised him, "Jeyne has been asking about you a lot lately."

Jon frowned at that. Ever since he had been legitimized he found that Sansa's trusted companion Jeyne Poole always had one reason or another to come find him. What was especially troubling to him was the fact that the castellan's daughter usually tried to get him to join her company whenever he was trying to be alone.

"I'm not going to marry anyone," he replied, hoping that his brother and sister would leave it at that.

"What?"

There was a long pregnant pause before Jon replied. "I'm going to join the Night's Watch."

"But you're not a bastard anymore," Sansa's nose wrinkled in confusion.

While Robb and Sansa waited for an answer, Jon remained silent. Robert Baratheon had put some words on a piece a paper that said he was no longer a bastard, but for Jon he still wasn't sure exactly what that meant. While Robb had no way to respond to his brother's silence, Sansa looked at him as a Queen would a loyal subject.

"If that's how you feel, I'll ask Joffrey to let you join his Kingsguard. No one sings songs about the Night's Watch. This way, maybe you'll get a song of your own one day."

"Sansa," Jon said quietly, having nothing to say to his sister's words, but at the same time being more moved by them than anything else the girl had ever said to him.

"Bran wants to be a Kingsguard," Robb was quick to add in, "Think about it, Jon. The two golden Stark knights protecting their sister who just happens to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? That sounds like a good song to me."

It was true that deep down in his heart that he had never shared with anyone else, that what he wanted more than anything was to be a hero. When he was younger, he had always envisioned a great moment where he would save the life of his Lord father, and in his gratitude his father would make him a true Stark. Well, he was a true Stark now by the word of Robert of the House Baratheon, but there was still something inside of Jon that both terrified and enchanted him. There was a sense of calling in his heart. There was a sense of greater purpose. He never imagined a song of his own, and for a moment of wild youthful mirth Jon couldn't help but contemplate how his song would go, of the knight from the icy North standing before the Iron Throne forged by Aegon the Conqueror with the swords of subjugated kings and the fire of his dragons.

He wondered what they would call this song, of ice and fire.

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**See you next Saturday! Read and review! _The War of the Wolves_ is coming soon! (August 1st)**


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